Dumbledore versus Grindelwald
by Silicon Avatar
Summary: The untold story of how Dumbledore defeated Grindelwald. A fanfic that uses concepts from the new movie Fantastic Beasts!
1. Chapter 1

**Dumbledore versus Grindelwald  
** _Warning: Spoilers for all Harry Potter stories, including Fantastic Beasts…_

I've had the idea for this fanfic for years, but now it seems like the right time to finally do this, after Fantastic Beasts has just been released. I will say up front the ending will be… different than what will likely happen in the new _Wizarding World of J.K. Rowling_ series of films, but I hope it will tide you over till then.

 _Note: Harry Potter is the sole intellectual property of J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros, and all use of their characters and concepts herein is intended to be in compliance with fair use._

* * *

 **Round 1  
** _December 1943  
Protectorate of Bohemia and Moravia_

Shivering in the biting night cold and blowing snow, Private Köhler could barely see the twin lights of a vehicle make its way towards the gate. Unslinging his rifle, he rubbed his hands together to bring feeling to them. The lights made themselves out into a well-worn Kübelwagen. There were two people inside: a driver and a full _Oberst_. Despite the wintery lethargy, his arm shot out in a brisk salute.

"Good evening, Private," the colonel said, a short but intense looking man with silver-white hair. "I am Colonel Aldrich, here with my assistant, Herr Schaatz, on an unscheduled inspection of the special factories on behalf of the Interior Ministry."

"May I see your authorization order from the Minister?"

"Certainly, here it is. Signed by Frick himself."

Köhler examined the papers. Nodding, he signaled to the gate operator to open the doors. Waving them in, he said: "Very well, Colonel Aldrich. I hope you find everything in order."

"Indeed."

* * *

"If you just sign the visitation log, we can proceed to the tour." Director Johannes proffered the clipboard with the yellowed-paper and a large fountain pen to Aldrich, who quickly signed his name. Johannes looked at the signature: there were quite a few splotches where ink had leaked excessively.

Nodding, he gave it to his secretary and said: "Thank you, Colonel. Please file it in the Blue room." She took the papers and exited the office. "Shall we?"

The three of them made their way across the grounds heading to the main building shed. Despite the late hour all the adjacent complexes were at full activity, smoke belching from their stacks, the flicker of burning coal visible from the few windows in the thick masonry walls. The entrance was a thick steel door; it took both guards some time to unlock and slowly open it. They went inside.

"In case you're curious, we're here to inquire about the status of T-555," said Colonel Aldrich as they began descending a stairwell.

Despite the cold, Johannes began to sweat. "I assure you, we're doing our best to figure out how to manufacture it, but it's a very unusual compound."

"How so?"

"Well, it's quite deadly – the accidents, and the tests, have revealed that. But its effects are unusually random. Sometimes it doesn't seem to work at all." He laughed nervously. "Almost as if it has a mind of its own."

Aldrich merely made a nonverbal sound in his throat. They had reached the basement level; the corridors branched off in three directions. Aldrich and Schaatz continued to walk forward, but Johannes stopped them. "Sorry, Herr Aldrich, the main labs are this way."

Aldrich and Schaatz shared a look. Nodding, they began following Johannes down the left corridor. They walked about ten meters until they met another set of doors. Opening it, Johannes gestured for them to go inside. "This way gentlemen. You'll find everything you're looking for in here."

"After you, _Herr_ Johannes," Schaatz said softly.

Sweating even more, Johannes said: "Of course." He entered; Aldrich and Schaatz followed.

They entered a large foundry room, brightly lit, with large steel vats lining both sides of the path. Aldrich said: "Very interesting, but this isn't quite—"

—Johannes sprinted towards a pole with a telephone midway towards the room. Lifting up the phone, he abruptly vanished. At the same moment, a half-dozen guards burst into the room from doors along the sides. One of them yelled: "Fire!"

Submachine gun fire raked Aldrich and Schaatz—and hundreds of bullets abruptly bounced off a shimmering blue orb that had appeared around both of them. The guards had looks of shock on their faces; before they could react all of them fell to the ground unconscious as red flashes of light hit them.

Before Aldrich and Schaatz could escape, more guards began pouring into the room, opening fire with assault rifles. Bullets stitched across Schaatz's chest; gasping he fell to the ground, slumping against Aldrich. Shouting in dismay, Aldrich dragged Schaatz behind a vat.

"Take the other alive!" one of the guards shouted to the others. "Surrender! There is no escape."

 _That will be the day._ Aldrich got up and held out his arms: all around him electric cabling from the walls ripped apart and hurtled towards the guards, wrapping themselves around them like animated snakes. With another wave of his arms, the vats ripped from their foundations and wedged against the doors, sealing them shut.

In seconds, it was all over.

* * *

Aldrich looked down at Schaatz, who was deathly pale. "MacAlister? Are you okay?" he asked softly.

"I…" With a final gurgle Sedwick MacAlister slumped over in death. Aldrich stopped waving his wand over the smoking holes in MacAlister's chest. Sighing, he pocketed MacAlister's wand and magically closed his eyes. Getting up, Albus Dumbledore twirled his wand over his head to relieve himself of his Colonel Aldrich disguise.

 _Your sacrifice will not be forgotten MacAlister_ , Dumbledore said to himself as he looked down on his long-time Auror associate's still form. As he did so, an unnatural bitterness seized him. _How many times have I had to say that over the past fifteen years?_ The list was already far too long.

Dumbledore crouched down and examined MacAlister again. No question: the bullets had somehow penetrated their _Protego_. _It could just as well have been me._ Extracting the bullet, he touched his wand to it, but nothing—not a hint of magical properties to it. That was incredible…but not surprising.

 _The Muggles are killing us! Grindelwald was right!_ With another massive war among the Muggles having broken out again just a quarter-century after the last time, most witches and wizards had merely taken the same precautions they had back then. Normally the standard protective charms and spells should have completely protected wizards and their families from any direct or indirect effects of Muggle activity, even war.

But in the past few years that had changed. Even the Ministry could no longer deny it; it was incontrovertible that witches and wizards had been injured or even killed by Muggle weaponry, despite the fact that magic should have made them immune. _'Death to Muggles! Repel the Nomaj! Kill the Magicless!'_ All across the world, in many tongues, witches and wizards were saying similar things, joining with Grindelwald's movement. _We may be too late already._

The Muggle government in Britain had denied any knowledge or responsibility for making the bombs and shells that had caused wizard casualties. The Ministry of Magic's Aurors had investigated munitions factories across Britain and found nothing. Across the Atlantic, their counterparts in MACUSA had found a bomb that could penetrate magical defenses, but only after it exploded; no one knew where it had come from, only that it had been loaded on a ship bound for Europe. Despite the efforts of Investigators on three continents, no one had been able to find a way to identify the enchanted Muggle weapons, nor find where they were being made.

Dumbledore was one of the increasingly dwindling few who insisted that wizards were behind this. This was the first time enchanted Muggle weapons had been found—the answers had to be here! Dumbledore waved his wand; MacAlister's body Transfigured into a set of dog tags, which he pocketed. Now he picked up one of the guard's rifles. The rifle itself was completely ordinary. Firing it, it appeared to be just an ordinary rifle. He removed the bullets, and touched his wand to them—still nothing. Finally, he took a bullet and carefully pulled it apart. Then he gingerly tasted it with his tongue. _Just like normal gunpowder—ack!_ Staggering, he stumbled and fell. Dazed, Dumbledore slowly got to his feet. He needed to cast a Rejuvenating Charm on himself; he felt as if he had just boxed with a giant and lost. _That was definitely Magic, but what kind? Could it be_ _—no!_

With a jolt, Dumbledore realized he had felt this kind of magical attack before. It had been decades ago, but the similarity was unmistakable. A theory rapidly began to form in his mind, becoming more concrete and horrible as the hypothesis fit the facts. _But I must find proof._

Now a foot taller, Dumbledore grimly went up to one of the guards. Towering over him, he growled: "Where did you get those rifles? Who made them" he asked tightly, pointing his wand right between the guard's eyes.

"Not… here… not… here…" the man babbled.

 _He doesn't know._ There was no point interrogating the others, the answer would be the same. With a flourish he rendered them all unconscious; they hung limply in their wire cocoons. Dumbledore returned to the door; it was sealed. _Alohomora_ didn't open it, but a Shrinking Transfiguration spell was able to shrink it by a smidge, enough for him to Apparate to the other side. Walking down the corridor, Dumbledore held his wand to his ear. He could hear nothing; no sudden alarms anywhere above. _Completely separate. Was he working with the Muggles here?_ He and MacAlister had come to this camp after painstaking research into the _Nationalsozialismus_ secret weapons projects; the existence of this factory had been hinted at, but there were discrepancies in the reports from what outside surveillance revealed. _I think we're very close._

Dumbledore returned to the main corridor and proceeded the way he and MacAlister had planned, before Johannes had lured them into the trap room. _That log must have been Charmed to detect magic; that's how they knew we were wizards._ Holding out his wand, he Unsealed the door at the end of the corridor and entered.

"Stop!" Immediately Stunning spells whizzed by him. Shielding himself, Dumbledore cast a Blast Wave Hex; his assailants were picked up and hurtled against the wall, knocked unconscious. Dumbledore bound them; they were Goblins, and they were carrying wands. He was equal parts shocked and curious. _Unprecedented. A gross violation of wizarding law_ —not that that mattered much to Grindelwald.

Looking around, it was a room similar to the one where he had been ambushed, but with a horrible difference: dozens of people were hanging from enchanted floating crucifixes, moaning softly. Deathly thin and in tattered rags, all of them had a cursed cut in their ankles. Their blood dripped down into a large obsidian cauldron, big enough for a man to step into. The cauldrons were all filled to varying degrees with blood, simmering due to magical heating. Grimly Dumbledore went up to one and, holding back the desire to vomit, he stirred the blood potion with his wand. Slowly, small ingets of gold floated to the top.

Intellectually—but not emotionally—Dumbledore was possessed with the desire to wreak vengeance for the atrocities taking place in here. _Blood to gold—an ancient Dark Alchemy, lost to wizardkind… but not to goblins._ The fact that goblins—with wands!—were here explained much. _That's how Grindelwald is getting support from the Nazis—turning their victims' blood to gold—and getting support from goblins, by giving them wands in violation of wizard law._

He was running out of time, but Dumbledore could not ignore what was going on here. He unbound the Muggles, did his best to heal their wounds, then Apparated them to the surface. For the goblins, he gathered their wands and destroyed them; then he began interrogating them by _Legilimens_. Like the guards, they knew nothing about the enchanted Muggle weapons. _But it's pretty clear where to search next._

Exiting, he went down the third corridor, dreading what was to come. _By Merlin's grace, may I not see what I think I will see._ To his surprise, the door was not locked.

As bad as the sight of Muggles being leeched of blood to turn into gold was, that was nothing compared to what he now saw: all around him, floating in magical cocoons, were dark twisting clouds of black-red torment—the remnants of Obscurials.

Dumbledore could hold his outrage no longer. In a loud, controlled voice he exclaimed: "Grindelwald! Show yourself!"

A fireplace magically erupted. From the flames, Gellert Grindelwald's head appeared. "Albus Dumbledore. What an unpleasant surprise."

Gesturing around, Dumbledore said in the coldest voice possible: "Is there no depths to which you won't sink to advance your twisted goals?"

Grindelwald smiled. "None. For the greater good, nothing is out of bounds. Nothing is beyond the pale."

"Torturing Muggles—"

"—Please, the No-Maj are nothing. Let them kill each other, the more the better." Before Dumbledore could reply, Grindelwald continued: "Certainly I hope you don't try to convince me that your Magicless are better than mine!"

"They are not my Muggles or your Muggles. What they do to each other has nothing to do with your culpability in aiding and abetting their crimes."

Grindelwald chuckled. "Perhaps. Anyway, enough about Muggles. That's not why you really came here, is it Albus?"

Mirthlessly Dumbledore replied: "No. It's over Grindelwald. You are exposed. The whole wizarding world will know it was you who enchanted those Muggle weapons… lacing them with fragments of Obscurials."

Grindelwald stopped smiling. Dumbledore shook his head. "Why I could I not see it before? Magic that can hide from Magic—you learned that from what you did to Credence, somehow. There is such concentrated magical power in an Obscurial; once released, it explodes with incredible force, then vanishes completely." He paused to collect himself. "Placing a fragment of an Obscurius inside a Muggle bomb is the perfect way to make it seem as if Muggles are able to harm wizards."

Scowling, Grindelwald said: "They _are_ a threat, Albus. You have no idea what the Muggles are capable of."

Dumbledore shook his head sadly. "No, I had no idea what _you_ are capable of." He turned his head to look at the Obscurials. Again holding back the desire to wretch, Dumbledore asked harshly: "Did you cut up Credence's essence into these pieces? Or did you find another Obscurial? Or…?" Dumbledore's mouth fell open at the final, horrible possibility.

Before he could say the final accusation, Grindelwald taunted: "Why don't you ask them? I'm sure they'll love to respond!" Grindelwald's head then vanished. All around Dumbledore, the magical containers holding the Obscurials disappeared; out of control, the Obscurials whirled and bounced off the walls, crackling with immense, uncontrollable power.

"Oh dear." He tried to Disapparate out, and was unable to do so. As fast as he could, Dumbledore raced for the door. Waving his wand, he activated all the alarms in the complex, and Disapparated all the guards, goblins and other Muggles he could sense in the basement. _I hope they can all escape in time._ Behind him the room rumbled; he dared not look back, but he could tell it was being literally torn apart.

Reaching the base of the stairs, he was finally clear of the anti-Apparating charm. As far as he could, Dumbledore transported himself out. He found himself precariously balanced in the limbs of a pine tree, almost a kilometer away. The factory complex was a blaze of lights, klaxons blaring unceasingly. Streams of people were running into the surrounding forest; many hundreds of them, highlighted by the lights against the snowy ground. The central building from where he escaped shuddered; then there was a blinding light and a deafening explosion, which made Dumbledore turn away instinctively. Moments later he looked back; the entire complex was a pile of rubble. Scores of Muggles were pulling themselves out of the wreckage, but it was clear many did not escape.

 _I_ will _stop you, Grindelwald. You shall answer for everyone who died here today; for Credence and all the others you killed, no matter what it takes._ Rarely had Dumbledore not been able to do what he intended; he only hoped this would not be the exception.

Dumbledore Apparated away.


	2. Chapter 2

**Round 2  
** _February 1944  
Outside Topeka, Kansas_

* * *

"Let me see them."

"Agent Goldstein, I don't think—"

"—Step aside, I want to see them!"

"There's only one left, we have to take her to a Healer—"

"—There isn't time, and they can't help. I can. Now, out of my way!"

The other Aurors stepped aside, and Porpentina Goldstein entered the ruins of the Nomaj barn. Inside was the bits and pieces of a dead wizard—all that was left of one of Grindelwald's followers. She paid him no attention. There was a large trapdoor in the center, and she gracefully Levitated down to the bottom. Far off in the corner, she heard a small whimpering cry; a young girl, no more than six years of age.

"It's okay," Goldstein said soothingly. "No one's going to hurt you. We're here to help." Pocketing her wand, very slowly she walked towards her, hands up.

The girl did not back off, but merely crouched, shivering. "What's your name? We'll find your parents, I'm sure they miss you very much—"

The little girl shrieked, closing her eyes and clutching at her temples. Shaking uncontrollably, the floor of the basement began vibrating ominously.

From above, someone called out: "Get out of there, she can't contain it—"

"No!" Taking out her wand, Goldstein beseeched: "It's okay, what they did to you was bad, but just focus on my voice and it'll be all—"

—the girl dissolved into a boiling red-black mass. _Damnit!_ Goldstein Disapparated. Landing on her feet half a mile away, she could only watch helplessly as the barn exploded in the cold early evening.

Goldstein dropped to her knees, weeping uncontrollably; tears of grief, tears of rage. She barely was able to compose herself as her fellow Aurors approached on foot.

"I'm sorry Tina, there was nothing you could have done," one of them said quietly.

Wiping the tears from her face, Goldstein got to her feet. "We'll never know, will we?" She fell silent for a while. "Hopefully this is the last of his… creches. Let's get back to New York and make our report."

Nodding, the other Aurors began to Apparate away. Goldstein, however, remained, casting one last glance at the ruins. A furious anger swelled up in her; only with the greatest difficulty could she manage to keep it down.

"When I kill you, this will be reason #100 why," Goldstein said softly to the silent night.

She Apparated away.

* * *

 _June 1944  
Ukrainian S.S.R._

Albus Dumbledore was invisible, yet it hardly seemed necessary; not a soul was in sight for miles around. _Without magic—or the Muggles' technology—the world really is a big place._

He was walking through the endless Asian steppes, a warm summer sun shining down and making Dumbledore wish he had brought his hat. Blue skies above, yellow flowered grasslands around him; far above, he heard the rumble of what could only be a Muggle flying machine. But besides that, he was alone. Far to the west, at the edge of the horizon, he could see the distant peeks of ruined Muggle buildings; silent testament to the battles of the past fall. Yet during his long sojourn, the earth showed little sign of war, save for the occasional wreck of machinery left behind.

Frowning, he looked around; he was alone but for the grass. _This will be a trap, but not a physical one—a moral one. He's going to try to turn me once again._

To be fair, that was Dumbledore's purpose as well.

 _Where is he?_ It was a test, which annoyed him—they were both far beyond the point of these silly games. Sighing, Dumbledore cast off the Disillusionment charm and pulled out his wand. Pointing at the horizon, he turned slowly in pace, making a complete circle. He felt a twitch; pausing, he gazed upon an indistinct dark lump on the ground, several miles in the distance. With a wave of his wand he Apparated right next to it. It was the ruins of a Muggle war machine, its original form a puzzle piece of flat metal shapes, now scorched and mangled. Inside were not bodies, not even pieces of bodies, but the tattered fragments of flesh and bone that remained after explosions, fire and the work of decay and scavengers had took their toll.

Walking around, he then saw it: hanging from the long bent metal tube that projected out from the top of the metal hulk hung a sign— _his_ sign. Dumbledore was too experienced, too self-controlled to reach out and grab it; instead he pointed his wand. _Not a Portkey, but enchanted somehow…_

 _A signal._ "Reenervate." The Hallows symbol spun faster and faster; there was a flash of light.

"Welcome Albus." Despite himself, Dumbledore pointedly declined to exchange pleasantries. Finally he turned around; fifty feet away there was now another wrecked Muggle machine, upon which Grindelwald was sitting. He was resplendent in a golden robe which Albus knew had the symbol of the Hallows on his back. Golden hair, golden clothes— _his followers call him the Golden Wizard, a symbol of the prosperous future for all wizards he would bring._ It dismayed him that so many of his followers did not care of how he used Muggle blood to make gold; it worried him that some of his opponents (including a few dear friends) might not care that much either.

"I hope you have a good reason bringing us here halfway across Europe," he said coldly. _A curious choice for a meeting place_ , Dumbledore mused. _I thought for certain… he would insist we meet right in the midst of the slaughterpen. What better way to make his point, than for the Muggles to do it for him?_

"Like I said many times before, there is good reason for everything I do."

"Good reason, but not such good sense." Grindelwald smirked and said nothing. Sighing, Dumbledore asked: "Let's see, what unspoken message does this grim locale carry on your behalf?"

Grindelwald shook his head. "You are far too clever for me to believe you don't know the answer to your own question." Dumbledore merely stared back in silent but evident exasperation. Sighing, Grindelwald pointed: "Look closely at our two friends here. How did they die?"

Dumbledore looked around; the 'tank' he was next to (such an odd Muggle turn of phrase!) had its gun barrel pointed directly at the tank Grindelwald was sitting on. And likewise with his. They were similar but of different manufacture. It was obvious then: "In the midst of battle, these two tanks fired upon each other at the same time, simultaneously destroying each other." Now it was Dumbledore's turn to grimace. "A fitting metaphor for the self-defeating nature of war."

Grindelwald smiled; Dumbledore remembered the times when that smile warmed his young heart. Now it chilled him to the bone. "I couldn't have said it better myself."

"Your concern for Muggle well-being is touching, Gellert," Dumbledore said with not-so-well-disguised sarcasm. "But I would be more impressed if you showed the same such compassion for your fellow wizards with whom you are waging war on."

Frowning, Grindelwald Disapparated. He reappeared nearby, standing in the steppes, his back to him. Dumbledore got down and walked towards him.

"One hardly needs Legilimency or a wand to know your true thoughts," Grindelwald said as Dumbledore approached from behind. "As the Magicless suffer and die in their countless millions, it anguishes you to no end. Yet you and all other wizards who have the power to stop it, refuse to act. Tell me, who is the more despicable? The misbehaving child, or the parent who allows misbehavior to continue?"

 _Distraction._ Dumbledore came up to his side. "How many witches and wizards have died at your hands? At your followers' hands? What greater good is worth the cost you have inflicted upon us?"

Grindelwald did not answer. Dumbledore moved to face him; his expression was unreadable. "Wizards are superior to Muggles, despite their tinkering advances—that was never the issue!"

An infinitesimal twitch flickered in Grindelwald's eyes. Dumbledore continued: "The reason we parted ways is that I realized we never needed to control the Muggles directly—"

"—you didn't always believe that."

"—but it's true," Dumbledore said beseechingly. "Even after all these centuries, Muggles are still no threat to wizards as a whole. Yes, by ill luck they can harm us individually—like they did… Ariana." He paused to gather himself. "But not to wizardry as such. So the goal you pursue is superfluous. And even if it weren't, the cost, Gellert, the cost!"

A shadow came across Grindelwald's face. "I do not harm my wizard enemies out of spite, Albus. I… do not regret my actions, but they do weigh on my consciousness."

Dumbledore muttered: "Even the wizard children you turned into Obscurials?"

Grindelwald's expression was unreadable. "Especially them."

Dumbledore closed his eyes, trying unsuccessfully to hold back the horrific images contained in the reports from America. "Please, Gellert, be honest, at least to me. You didn't kidnap and torture those poor younglings to become Obscurials out of any consideration of the Greater Good. It was all about revenge—revenge on their parents for opposing you, for thwarting your plans. Your so-called New Order is being built not only on the bones of countless wizards and Muggles, but also your unseemly pride and ego."

Dumbledore's words struck home; an ugly twitch flashed across Grindelwald's face. His hand remained inside his pocket, undoubtedly clutching his wand; Dumbledore subtly shifted, to show no advantage would come if Grindelwald sought to duel.

He did not—not yet. "What's done is done. Just as the Muggles fight to the death to settle once and for all what kind of people they shall be, so too must we wizards. The mistake of a quarter-millenia ago, when we chose to hide instead of become what our abilities demand we become, must be reversed. And it will be. When this is all over, one side shall prevail. The other side will no longer exist."

Dumbledore grimaced. "You have no idea how much it pains me to hear you say things like that. You make me wish I'd never known you so. Then it would be easier to do what I must."

A most unfamiliar look came across Grindelwald's face: sadness. "My dear old friend, Albus, we will not survive this struggle apart. What we are, what we can do, dictates but one possible outcome."

Deadpan, Dumbledore said: "You need not worry, Gellert, I shall not kill you, whatever may come."

A split second later, Grindelwald began to laugh. "Good to know these dark times have not fully robbed you of your wondrous sense of humor."

"I wasn't joking."

"Of course not," Grindelwald replied. "Both of us believe we are in the right, both of us have inarguable reasons for believing so. But principles do not win arguments, only the wizards who wield them as additional weapons." He paused, giving Dumbledore a searching look. "Do you believe yourself strong enough to prevail?"

"As I have done so many times over the years, I find myself tasked to correct your errors, Gellert. The might of any one wizard and his wand has never truly determined our destiny. You are but the latest in a long line of witches and wizards who were deluded to think to the contrary." With a polite sneer, Dumbledore said: "You will fail, the only question being what price you, me and all wizardkind and humanity will pay before it happens."

Grindelwald nodded slowly—a gesture which unnerved him for some reason. "No one is better at drawing the proper conclusion from a given set of facts. But do you have all the facts at your side this time?"

"When the facts change so does my view of things. A pity more wizards did not do the same."

"Then be prepared to change your mind as well. Behold." Grindelwald held out both hands palm first. Dumbledore pointed his wand at him. Nodding, Grindelwald slowly reached with his left hand into his right robe pocket. Very slowly—too slow for Grindelwald to draw a wand against him in anger—he pulled out…

…his wand. _But no, not his normal wand._

"Do you recognize it?"

Dumbledore squinted; it was long and knobbed... With all his effort he tried to suppress his shock, but failed as his eyes bulged out in astonishment. Grindelwald was grinning; unable to maintain the façade, Dumbledore whispered: "No, it can't be."

"Yes. The Elder Wand. Lost for centuries, now returned to wizardkind. To _me._ "

Dumbledore was beginning to feel a most unfamiliar and unpleasant sensation: panic. "But where…. where did you find it?"

Grindelwald shook his head. "An irrelevant question—I expected better, Albus. The facts, as you say, speaks for itself. You thought our quest to find the Hallows was futile. Here is your evidence of how wrong you were, as you are wrong in so many other things." Grindelwald suddenly pointed it at Dumbledore, who was half-a-step too slow; he could have Disarmed him, but for one of the few times in his life shock had overwhelmed his judgment. Now, if they were to duel it would be on an even field.

Pointing the Elder Wand at Dumbledore, Grindelwald slowly backed up and began to circle him; Dumbledore kept his guard up. "Once this minor struggle is over, I shall resume our quest to become Masters of Death. And I will succeed. But even now, I am unconquerable. All your hollow claims of morality and tolerance have been shown to be futile. I now wield the power of Magic itself."

"A wand is but a tool, Gellert. No matter what, nothing of significance has actually changed."

Grindelwald grinned maliciously. "Already the Wand of Destiny gives me the advantage – it knows you're lying, and so do I." He stopped circling. "My strongest argument for you to join with me now points at you. The time for debate is over. For the last time I ask you, my old friend: will you join me in my newfound strength? Or do you choose to be crushed by it?"

Dumbledore lowered his wand and shook his head sadly. "If you were so sure of yourself, of your 'newfound strength' as it were, you'd hardly need to go through all this theatricality; you'd have done what you thought necessary without hesitation. Your doubt is to your credit, Gellert; you can still turn away from all this, renounce what you've done. It's not too late."

Grindelwald's lips curled in anger; his wandhand trembled. "So be it, Albus." He raised the Elder Wand; all around them, the ground began to tremble. Turning, Albus began to see wrecked Muggle war machines rise out of the dirt.

"Most of wizardkind will be more sensible than you, and realize that further struggle against what I stand for is pointless. In victory, I will be merciful to my former enemies; after all, as you said, spilling magical blood is a waste." In the churned mud around them, bony fingers and hands pushed up, grasping. "You, on the other hand, are incorrigible. I have been far too magnanimous in tolerating your foolish viewpoint. So instead I will teach you a lesson, Albus Dumbledore. I will teach you to respect the power of wizardry, and punish you for your abandonment of using your gifts for the greater good. If you survive this first lesson, be assured other, more painful ones will be forthcoming."

More and more corpses and machines surrounded them. "I have nothing else to say," Dumbledore said.

"Neither do I. _Accio!_ " The Deathly Hallows pendant flew towards Grindelwald; upon touching it he vanished, and as soon as he did so the pendant itself flashed into flaming dust.

Dumbledore waved his wand, but he was unable to Disapparate. _Of course._ The bewitched corpses, most little more than skeletons in tattered uniforms, moved towards him. Some of them opened fire with their weapons; he was able to deflect their bullets with _Protego_ with hardly any effort.

 _The Elder Wand in Grindelwald's hands—this is an unfortunate turn of events,_ Dumbledore mused, dodging the clumsy efforts of the Inferi to stab him with bayonets and knives. However, there were so many that abruptly he found his leg in the grip of one of them. _Divido!_ The bony hand was cleaved off, but more began tugging at his robes. Nearby the mangled remains of a Muggle tank turned its gun barrel towards him. _Now this is becoming a problem!_ Twirling his wand, he was able to Leap into the sky, just before the tank fired, its round exploding where he was and disintegrating a score of corpses.

Dumbledore landed awkwardly in a heap a hundred feet away. There were fewer corpses and machines in his immediate vicinity, but all the others began ponderously pursuing him. Running with more urgency, Dumbledore slashed at the air with his wand. _To prevent Apparating in a particular area without active spellcasting, the charms must be placed on objects within the location of the effect. Find and destroy enough of them, and I can escape._ Of course that was easier said than done, especially with what now must be at least a thousand corpses closing in on him.

 _There!_ An unassuming flower burst into flames. The effect was weaker, but Dumbledore still couldn't Apparate out. Bullets raked the ground near him; he kept running, pushing the hordes out of his way while constantly casting Shield Charms to his left, right and behind. _The only way to permanently destroy Inferi is with fire, but it's too risky in this congested area._

In between fighting off the Inferi and protecting himself, Dumbledore continued to conjure up water and attempting to Vanish it as far as he could; based on how much effort it took to do so, he could find any nearby anti-Disapparating receptacles. He destroyed another, an unassuming lump of wood. With that he could now transport short distances, but he could not yet escape. Just as several dozen were about to surround him, he transported himself clear.

 _BANG!_ With a shock Dumbledore fell to the ground, a stinging pain in his back; a reanimated Muggle flying machine had dropped a large bomb nearby before he could Shield himself. All the other Inferi and enchanted tanks in the vicinity had been blasted apart, but Dumbledore was no longer able to run as his left leg had been badly lacerated by fragments. As the flying machine turned to attack him again, Dumbledore summoned a cloud of steam ahead of it. When it entered, he Froze the cloud. Suddenly encased in ice, the flying machine staggered and crashed into the ground not fifty feet away. More bits of sharp metal lacerated his face, but fortunately the injuries were only superficial. _Thank Merlin they weren't Cursed._ Once he got away a Healer would be able to heal him completely. But escape was suddenly looking doubtful.

 _Don't panic, focus on what needs to be done._ Off in the distance was another receptacle. Hopping on one leg, Dumbledore made his way forward. The nearest Inferi were several hundred feet away, but closing steadily. Not ten feet away from another Muggle tank began bursting out of the ground. With all his concentration Dumbledore summoned a Crushing Hex; the tank shuddered and collapsed into a mangled metal ball.

Staggering, Dumbledore fell, unable to walk anymore. He pointed his wand at a distant tank and cast a Dragging Charm. Swiftly he was pulled through the grass towards it. Aware of being in its grasp, the tank slowly turned its mangled turret towards him. Its big gun was unable to fire, but its smaller guns blazed away, as bullets bounced off the ground very closeby. _There!_ He was right by another receptacle. Another Crushing Hex destroyed the nearby tank. Dumbledore struggled to look above the grass to find it; all he saw were Inferi all around him. Some were clothed in grey, others in brown. Muggles formerly from both sides who killed each other, were now reanimated after death and marched side by side-to kill him. _Not quite the unity I'd hope to see.  
_

The nearest Inferi was but feet away. The receptacle was a battered metal drum; it burst into flames. But before Dumbledore could Disapparate, a stinging pain flared in his right leg; the Inferi had plunged his bayonet into him. Twisting on the ground, he looked up at his assailer, a foul rotted figure grinning with stained bony teeth as dirt fell out of its mouth. His strength weakening rapidly, he Levicorpus'd the Inferi clear. With the bayonet and rifle still penetrating his flesh, Dumbledore finally managed to escape Grindelwald's trap.

Some miles away, Dumbledore pulled the bayonet clear, crying out in pain as he did so. Fingers shaking, he pulled out of his traveling pouch a vial with Reviving Potion. Drinking it, he instantly felt a surge of life course through him. Slowly and carefully he held his wand over his many wounds, healing himself enough to be able to get to his feet and Apparate away.

* * *

Hours later, Dumbledore was in a bed in a Healerspot in London, resting comfortably. _Congratulations, Gellert, that's the closest you've ever come to killing me!_

Levity aside, Dumbledore struggled to take in the implications of the Deathly Hallows being proved to be real—and that the Elder Wand was in Grindelwald's possession. _A wand_ is _but a tool, but will this tool be enough for Grindelwald to prevail?_

Considering all that had happened, Dumbledore chided himself. _I've been entirely too lackadaisical in attempting to stop him. I let sentiment and a forlorn hope that he could change blind myself from doing all that was necessary. Now, the task will be far more difficult—even impossible? And how many more witches, wizards and Muggles will suffer because you let this play on too long?_

He knew the answer: _far too many._ Dumbledore only hoped they could stop Grindelwald before it was too late.


	3. Chapter 3

**Round 3  
** February 1945  
 _Over the Pacific Ocean_

As the sun rose over the boundless expanse of the Pacific to the east, Lieutenant Franck D. McClintock, Carrier Squadron VF(N)-53 aboard USS _Saratoga_ , flew his F-6F-5N Hellcat night fighter in a high lazy circle above the island of Iwo Jima. Off to the south, he could just see the wakes of countless Navy ships steaming his way, the lead vessels carrying the Marines who would come ashore in a few hours. In the sky, the first wave of planes from TF58 were taking off, heading in to give the Japs one final pounding from above.

Just now flashes across the sea signaled that the battlewagons were opening up as well. Below him, countless explosions appeared all across the island. _Surely nothing could survive that,_ he thought, then chided himself for being overoptimistic. _Time and time again those sneaky Nips have proved they're harder to kill than a Texas rattlesnake._

No, this was just the start of a heavyweight bout. His radio then chirped: "Batcave to NAP, status report by squadron."

McClintock waited as his fellow squadron mates reported in. Once Dodger finished, he cleared his throat: "Batcave, this is Nighthawk. Negative sign of Jap bogies. Estimate fuel status five minutes to Bingo. Visual contact made with inbound elements of Detachment, will maneuver— _what in the holy hell?!_ "

"Nighthawk, did not copy last, repeat last transmission," the CAG back aboard _Saratoga_ said. "Nighthawk, respond!"

But all thought of military discipline had vanished from Franck's mind, as he continued to stare opened-mouthed at the impossible: heading towards him—no, now flying _aside_ him—were several (5? 12?) people. Only they weren't in airplanes; they were…

…Try as he might, his mouth couldn't form the words to speak: _On a flying carpet? Brooms?!_ It was an odd mixture of people—men and women, some young, some old; some Oriental and some white? And they were all dressed funny…

"—Nighthawk, repeat, this is Batcave. Respond!" One of the strangers—a Jap—waved at him, smiling.

That helped McClintock snap out of it. Excitedly he babbled: "Jumpin' Jeosophat, you're not going to believe what I just saw Commander Travis—er, Batcave!—there are peop—"

—The white guy next to the Jap waved his hand at him. All of a sudden a warm fuzzy feeling filled McClintock. Dully he stared ahead—the people continued flying towards Iwo Jima, but that didn't seem all that important anymore.

His gaze transfixed on the flying people, McClintock nodded as understanding came. In a perfectly calm monotone he said: "Apologies, Batcave, I just saw a flock of sea eagles flying by. Good omen for today. Nighthawk returning to nest, out." Pulling back on the throttle, McClintock arced his plane into a graceful turn and headed north back to his flattop.

* * *

"Really, Yamada-san?" Dumbledore asked crossly as he finished casting _Obliviate_ , watching the Muggle plane fly away until it vanished into the brightening blue of the dawn sky.

"I would have thought you of all wizards would appreciate a moment of levity to ease tension before a serious task," replied Yamada Noburu, a very-young Investigator of the Japanese _Bumonnoki—_ their equivalent to the Ministry of Magic. Once more he recast the Disillusionment charm; they were now invisible again.

Around him, several of the other nine witches and wizards of the team nodded in agreement. "There will be time enough for celebration _after_ we achieve our goal," Dumbledore said sourly, shifting uncomfortably on his broom. "Am I right?" He cast an acerbic look at his colleagues from the Ministry riding beside him on an enchanted Persian rug.

Juliette Willamette stifled a smile. "Sorry, Albus, you are, of course, correct," she said. Besides her, Artemius Crouch merely smiled and shook his head.

Sighing, Dumbledore turned his attention below. They were now rapidly approaching Iwo Jima. The island was covered with smoke from innumerable rounds of gunfire from the American ships. Other craft had beached themselves on the island and thousands of Nomaj soldiers poured onto the black sands. The Japanese guns were now beginning to fire back. The beaches began to run red.

"Such a slaughter," Etienne Dumont said quietly. "And yet we can do nothing—for either side."

"Put aside your concerns for the Muggles," Dumbledore said tightly. "It will soon be time."

"Do you really think Grindelwald's down there?" Crouch asked gruffly.

"No. But that's alright, as long as Daimyo Azon is." _And if he isn't, I go back to Hogwarts and teach first-year Charms for the rest of my life._ Since his narrow escape in Ukraine, Grindelwald had raised his war against the wizarding world to new heights, alternating between leading devastating attacks against wizarding governments everywhere, and horrific atrocities against Muggles worldwide. In scrambling to suppress Grindelwald's actions, the ICW was spread too thin, allowing Grindelwald and his followers to gain resources and, most worryingly, more converts to his cause.

Desperate for help in stopping him, the Ministry had begged Dumbledore to become more actively involved. After Ukraine he had refused, citing a need to defend Hogwarts— _a very convincing lie_. But after months of ever mounting disaster, the magnitude of his cowardice was finally too much to bear even for himself. _You owe it to everyone—from Ariana to Credence to McAlister—to stop him or die trying._

Having finally worked up the courage to do so, Dumbledore had approached these select ten witches and wizards in absolute secrecy, knowing he could trust them above all others. After months of preparation, today was the first step in his master plan to stop the Golden Wizard.

Dumbledore took out a pocket watch and waited until: 10 o'clock in the morning local time. From another pocket he took out a tiny cage, opened the door, and allowed the pixie inside to fly away.

"It begins?" Yamada asked, watching the pixie head towards the ships offshore.

"It begins. Everyone, your attention please." Immediately their group came to a stop, all of them sitting on brooms and carpets in a semicircle in front of him. "Everyone knows what they need to do, so I will not insult your intelligence by repeating it. But I must reiterate the following: Azon must be captured alive." Dumbledore paused for emphasis. "Even at the cost of your own life, if need be."

None of the others liked that, but not because the thought of dying dissuaded them. "I still don't understand why," Zunza the great Kenyan Inquisitor rumbled. "Azon is Grindelwald's right-hand man. As long as he's free the wizarding community here in Japan will never be safe. Killing him is the only way to ensure he is no longer a threat."

Dumbledore checked his hourglass: no response yet. Sighing, he replied: "Killing him is the one way to ensure he becomes a martyr, and turn too many Japanese wizards against us. Of necessity, the ICW must fight this war against Grindelwald's movement with one wandarm bound behind our backs. Yes, it would be easier to kill them, but it would not be right."

"The Muggles have a saying, 'Might makes right'," Crouch growled. "Sounds right to me."

"But it isn't—at least, not here. Grindelwald cannot fight wizardkind by himself." Dumbledore felt no compunction in lying on that score— _for the greater good?_ "As we remove his key supporters, his links to the disaffected amongst us, we weaken Grindelwald without weakening ourselves, and force him to confront us instead of running amok amongst the Muggles. I promise you, when this is over, he will come to us, and then we will have him." His colleagues began nodding; it was clear he had convinced them (or at least reassured them). They began to prepare themselves for the fight ahead.

Yamada floated up next to him. In a low voice he said: "Now will you tell me how you're going to not only bring down his enchanted screens, but disable the Worldway Azon has surely has set up, before he can escape?"

Dumbledore smiled. "Not just yet. You have to trust me."

Yamada fidgeted. "I… do trust you." _He almost said 'don't'._ "But the fact that the Magicless are fighting all over Azon's hideout, won't that make him flee?"

Dumbledore bit his lip with poorly-hidden disgust. "On the contrary. Grindelwald's closest followers—like Grindelwald himself—are thrilled by Muggle-on-Muggle violence; watching it is a sick, perverted pleasure of theirs." _I know this from personal experience._ "I assure you, if Azon is down there, right now he and all his followers are enjoying the slaughter up-close, observing it as attentively as we watched the 314th Quidditch World Cup." The frown became even deeper. "I rather think they'll even have their guard down. We must not waste this opportunity."

Yamada nodded reluctantly. "Very well, Dumbledore-san. Once we land, we can stop anyone from Disapparating, as long as you can get us through the door."

Dumbledore patted him on the shoulder and smiled. "I won't let you down." _Let's just hope Miss Goldstein doesn't either…_ "Is everybody ready?"

They all nodded. "Very well, let us begin…now!" All of them leaped from their carpets and brooms, plummeting to the ground below.

* * *

Aboard _USS Wisconsin_

Every minute or so, the entire ship shuddered slightly as the main batteries fired, hurling their shells twenty miles away. It was a nontrivial distraction for Commander Andrew Jamis as he tried to treat his patient.

"I'm telling you, it's nothing but indigestion," growled Brigade-General Henry Paterson, pushing him away as he sat on the end of a hospital bed. "Now let me go, dammit, my Marines out there are taking a helluva pounding!"

"General, I'm almost certain it's appendicitis, and if we don't remove it it could be fatal."

"Doc, if you operate on me I'll be sidelined for a week, and by then the fighting will be over—" Suddenly the general let out a loud groan and clutched at his sides. "Goddamnit!" His head jerked up. "Well, don't just stand there! Do something!"

"Of course. Nurse!"

"Yes, Doctor?"

"Get me a hypo with morphine, and tell the Surgery team to prep for emergency surgery."

"Right away."

Paterson raised his head, squinting. "Tell me I'm hallucinating. But what the hell is a broad doing aboard a battleship in an active warzone?"

"It's a long story." Commander Jamis chuckled as the nurse came back with a hypo. Appreciatively he gave her another lookover: unusually tall, taller than he was, Ensign Goldstein was smartly dressed in bleach-white threads, wearing a cap with a red cross atop her dark black hair. "Thank you," he said as Goldstein handed him the needle. "Now lie back, General, this won't hurt too much."

Lying back, Paterson grunted as the needle entered his abdomen. "Next time, Doc, try to keep your slobber to yourself." He turned to Goldstein. "How the hell did you end up on the _Wisconsin_?"

In a plain voice she said: "The _Western Comfort_ was hit by kamikazes off Luzon, General. The Navy had to scramble to reassign medical personnel from here to Pearl Harbor. I was temporarily reassigned here—"

"—To make a long story short, Nurse Goldstein was forced to remain aboard after half our staff got food poisoning, somehow. By the time they recovered, we were halfway to Iwo Jima. Not that we don't mind your company, right Nurse?" He smiled as he slapped her in the behind.

Through gritted teeth Goldstein said: "Of course not, Commander."

Suddenly Paterson yelled out loud. "Damnit, it hurts more than ever!"

Jamis' mouth hung open. "What? I don't understand, you shouldn't be able to feel a thing." He hunched over the General, probing. Suddenly he was agitated. "Goldstein, did you get the right hypo? I swear, why the Navy ever let you broads—"

—swinging around to confront her, he saw a long stick of wood pointed right between his eyes. "I think you need to operate on the General right now, don't you agree Commander Jamis?"

"I need to operate on the General right now," Jamis repeated dully.

"And you don't need my services anymore, so I am now relieved of duty."

"Yes, you're relieved of duty Nurse Goldstein."

"Thank you, _Commander,_ " she said acidly. Pocketing her wand, Goldstein turned and left.

Now alone, Tina shook her head. "Nomajs. Can't live with them. Can't kill them." _Another day, and I would have Transfigured Jamis into a frog._ Stepping outside, Goldstein waited until the corridors were empty, then Apparated to the surface.

Immediately she was struck by the sting of saltwater on her face, and the acrid smell of smoke. A hundred feet away, the middle set of enormous guns let loose a tremendous blast; for a Nomaj the blast would have been lethal, but _Muffliato_ reduced the noise and blast to a trickle. Looking around, no sailors were immediately around her. She raised her wand and waited. _Come on Dumbledore, don't keep me waiting._

Long seconds later, there was a buzzing noise nearby; the pixie was hovering beside her wand. She took out a small cage and let the pixie in, tucking her away for safety. Taking a deep breath, she re-Apparated towards the middle gun turret.

Now she was deep inside the ship, below the turret. Immediately she cast a Disillusionment Charm to conceal herself. All around her were the gigantic… _shells_ … that the ship fired. Normally Goldstein had little interest in Nomaj technology, but today she was intensely interested in the giant conical shapes that were taller than she was. She was in a room filled with these shells, but she was looking for three in particular. Holding out her wand, she paced around the room, until…

… _There!_ The three shells were shunted off at the far end. On each of them was painted with red paint: "Defective – Do Not Use". But they also had another message written on them with magical invisible Ink:

 _When you get my signal, wait until the turret has fired, then move the shells to the tubes in the center directly under the turrets. The ship's loading system will move the shells up to be loaded into the guns. If you cannot move these shells into position before they are loaded, wait until the ship fires then try again._

 _Once the shells are all loaded, cast a Freeze Jinx on the guns—that will prevent the ship from firing. Go topside, then use my SeekerScope to look for my signal as to where to fire. When you see a red dot in the Scope, perform an Alignment charm._

 _Finally, re-Apparate inside the turret, un-Freeze the guns, and command the crew to fire. You must fire within 60 seconds of casting the Alignment charm. If you cannot, freeze the guns and start over. Take your time—it must be done perfectly the first time!_

 _Good luck,_

 _Albus_

Sweating, Goldstein took out her wand. Waiting, there was then one, two, three blasts—the guns were empty! Immediately she cast _Leviosa_ on the shells. Straining, the three shells lifted up and slowly floated towards the loading area in the middle of the room. They were all seated just as the gears all around her began to turn; the shells were lifted upwards! She cast the Freezing Jinx; immediately she could begin to hear the crewmen above her yelling with dismay that the gun was not working.

Goldstein Apparated to the surface again, and pulled out Dumbledore's SeekerScope. Pointing it towards the island, she saw nothing. _Maxie Lewis, why did I ever think this mad plan of Albus would work?_ Gritting her teeth, she kept looking.

* * *

"Gah!" A shell exploded near Crouch, pelting him with dirt, fragments and pieces of human remains.

Before he could pull out his wand, Albus grabbed him. "No magic, not yet!"

Crouch grimaced. "If we die at the hands of the Muggles, I'll kill you myself!" Both Dumbledore, Crouch and the others were now all disguised as Marines, interspersed with the other Muggle soldiers. At the moment they were, along with the Muggles, burying themselves deep into the dark wet sand to find cover from incoming fire. Instead of advancing with the others, however, they were slowly advancing to the predetermined jump points. But they could not use magic to conceal themselves, as that would surely alert Azon, which meant there was a real possibility that some or all of them could be wounded or even killed by Muggle fire.

"It's a risk we have to take," Dumbledore muttered to himself. _For the greater good._ Wincing, he tried to forget the phrase. They were at their jump point, a small set of hills barely a mile from the water. Dumbledore put a rifle grenade in his rifle, then pointed it to the sky and fired. Seconds later, it exploded, sending a puff of red smoke.

One of the Muggle soldiers crouched in the sand alongside looked at him in disbelief. "Mac, what the hell are you doing?"

"Calling in air support," Dumbledore replied. Before the Muggle could object, the whistle of incoming fire made them all duck down low. Raising his head slightly, pushing the heavy metal helmet atop his head, he could see more puffs of red smoke in the distance. _Two, three, four, just one more…there!_ They were all in position—and all alive.

As the Muggle soldiers began firing back at their attackers, Dumbledore covertly removed his wand and pointed it towards the center of the island. He could not cast a spell like _Revelio_ , but even in the midst of all the chaos and death around him, he was fiercely concentrating as he passively held his wand. Beside him, Crouch was concealing him from the sight of other nearby Muggle soldiers.

 _Not there, not there—there!_ He felt the barest twitch as he pointed in a particular direction. Most wizards would not have noticed it at all, but to Dumbledore it was as clear as the flashing sign over the _Boar's Inn._ He took out a purple egg from his pocket, pointed his wand at it, then flung it towards the spot he felt.

One of the Muggle soldiers nearby saw the egg fly through the air. "Woah, that was a heck of a throw!" Three hundred feet ahead, it burst, sending an improbable amount of purple smoke skyward. _Now or never…_

* * *

Tina saw it: a thin purple line reaching up from the island to the sky above. A bright red dot appeared in the Seekerscope. Still looking through the Scope, she pointed her wand at the turret and cast the Alignment charm; very slowly the turret moved into position. She then re-Apparated inside the turret and—

—"What the hell?" Goldstein found herself surrounded by a dozen sailors, who all stared astonished at her.

 _Merlin's beard, how could you forget the Charm had worn off!_ Fortunately, they were all so stunned at seeing her (whether because she was a woman or because she appeared out of thin air Goldstein couldn't say) that she had time to _Imperio_ the whole lot of them. But it took precious time—a clock in her head said she was almost too late. Immediately she unFroze the guns; they quickly started moving. As soon as the guns stopped moving, she Commanded the crew to fire.

* * *

"How much longer Albus?"

"Right about… now." Off in the distance, he could hear a faint whistle, rapidly getting louder.

"Incoming!" The Muggle soldiers around him ducked and swore; from long experience they realized that one of the ships offshore was firing way too close where they were. Depending on what particular ship it was, they would either make it, or be blown to bits. _A normal shell from a battleship would kill everyone of them. Fortunately, things were not normal…_

—Instead of the normal deafening explosion, there was a loud thunderclap and a flash of blackness that was almost gone before they noticed. A second later, right before them, the sandy landscape was replaced by a large circular atrium with an ornate garden pool in the center. A dozen luxurious couches were arranged around the pool; on them lay eleven witches and wizards—including Azon himself, hardly wearing anything. He quickly rose from a recumbent position, his mouth falling open in astonishment.

To his side the other Aurors were pointing their wands at the crowd. With a wave of his wand Dumbledore restored the Concealment Charm; the cacophony of the Muggle battle instantly disappeared.

"Surrender, Azon-san," Yamada said. "It is over."

Dumbledore did not hear his reply; faster than he ever saw someone move Azon moved in a blur. He tried to Stun him but missed. Curses crisscrossed the atrium; he saw wizards in front of him and behind him fall, but could not tell who it was.

"The Worldway—it's through that door!" At the far side was a rectangular entrance in the marble wall. Dumbledore Apparated in front of it, a split second before Azon did. They were so close to each other there was hardly any room to bring their wands to bear. Dropping his wand, Dumbledore grabbed and wrestled Azon to the ground. Inches away, he had a perfect view of his foe: handsome, lean and nearly as tall as Dumbledore was normally, his well-tanned skin was without blemish, and his jet-black hair of medium length. The half-robe wrapped around his waist fell away during the struggle, but neither of them noticed.

As he hoped, Azon had concentrated on trying to bring his wand to bear, which gave Dumbledore ample leeway to physically restrain his foe. Realizing this too late, Azon now dropped his wand in an attempt to free his left hand to strike at Dumbledore, but before he could do so Dumbledore swung with all his might and punched Azon across the jaw. Letting out a loud groan, Azon's muscles slackened; that allowed Dumbledore to finally get leverage and pin Azon down. He reached down and grabbed Azon's wand, pointing it right between his eyes.

Instantly Azon stopped resisting. That was enough to allow Dumbledore to get back to his feet. Pocketing Azon's wand, Dumbledore retrieved his and physically restrained Azon. As the danger was over, Dumbledore's body suddenly began to shake. Looking back, it was an insane gamble: during their struggle, had any of Azon's followers been unengaged they could have easily stunned or killed him. But his gamble had paid off: the five members of Azon's cabal still conscious were being restrained by the Aurors (with a heavy heart he saw that only eight were up and about. Zunza was lying on the ground utterly still; he could not see who else was down).

Artemius came up beside him. "Congratulations, Albus. It worked to perfection."

"What about Zunza?" he said heavily. Crouch crumpled and shook his head. "Who else did we lose?"

"Dumont, but not here; Yamada said he was hurt by Muggle fire, he had to leave him behind."

"Alright, have someone return to the island and find Dumont. Disable the Worldway, and tell the others to search the premises." Crouch nodded and went through the door.

"Well done, Albus," a quiet deadly voice whispered beneath him. "How did you do it?" At his feet, Azon looked up at him, hands and legs bound by cords, murder in his eyes. Dumbledore noticed all the other captives had been Petrified, so they were almost as still and unmoving as poor Zunza. With a wave of his wand Azon's robes wrapped themselves back around his midriff, thus restoring his dignity to him.

Dumbledore sat down two feet in front of Azon. "Where is Grindelwald?"

"Planning your destruction." Azon was no longer looking murderous, but almost gleeful.

With a flash Dumbledore whipped out his wand and pointed it at Azon. "Answer me!"

Azon's eyes went lax; "I do not know," he said with a slur. Disgustedly, Dumbledore lowered his wand.

Instantly Azon's eyes refocused, replaced with rage again. "Using the Imperius Curse on your fellow wizards? Such blatant hypocrisy, Albus," Azon sneered.

"The only wizard who died here today died at the hands of your associates," Dumbledore said harshly. "It is your hypocrisy—as well as Gellert's—which is leading to your defeat. Think of that when you face justice for your crimes."

Azon's face became unreadable. "Then avenge your dead, Albus. Kill me, if I deserve it so."

Dumbledore shook his head. "We are better than that."

Azon's smile was chilling. "Then be prepared to lose." Dumbledore stared at him, but Azon said nothing.

Some hours later, as the bulk of the Muggle fighting outside had moved on to other parts of the island, they had completed their search of Azon's lair. The only thing more they could learn would be to go through the Worldway and see where it was connected to, but that would have been suicidal, even if it was still working. Dumbledore saw no reason to risk it, so he had it destroyed.

Even better, it turned out Dumont was still alive; he had been badly injured by a nearby explosion, and in fact left for dead by the Muggles, but fortunately magical healing was enough to stabilize him. Yamada flew him back to the _Bumonnoki_ for further healing.

* * *

 _Mahoutokoro, Mina Jima_

The next day, Dumbledore was sitting all by himself in the Common Assembly of Mahoutokoro. The entire campus of the famed Japanese school of magic was deserted, the school temporarily closed by the _Bumonnoki_ due to the ongoing war between the Muggles in this part of the world. Yamada had insisted that any prisoners taken in the raid on Iwo Jima be brought here in secret. He had not explained why, but it was fairly obvious: he was afraid that there were secret followers of Grindelwald even in the Japanese Ministry of Magic.

Sipping tea, Dumbledore contemplated their next moves. Thorough interrogation of Azon and his followers had provided some useful information about the identities and locations of other followers of Grindelwald in Japan and other parts of Asia, but they were still no closer to learning the whereabouts of Gellert himself.

Dumbledore had expected nothing less. _We'll only catch him when he makes a mistake, but he hasn't made too many until recently._ As he had explained to Yamada, going after his top associates was the best way to balance undermining Grindelwald without further alienating the many wizards still sympathetic to his goals. _By showing other wizards the full extent of the atrocities his followers have committed against wizards (not necessarily Muggles), we undermine support for him. Once the wizarding community turns away from Grindelwald, he is beaten._

Of course, this strategy had another component that was needed, but it was out of his—and any wizard's—hands. At least the discovery of the gruesome fate of Grindelwald's victims in Azon's chamber of torture horrors would continue to weaken support for the Golden Wizard.

The doors of the Assembly room opened, and Tina Goldstein walked in, still wearing stark white Muggle clothing. Her face was calm, but Dumbledore could sense she was hiding powerful emotional currents.

"Greetings Miss Goldstein," he said politely. Immediately correcting himself: "Or should I refer to you as Mrs—"

"—Tina will do," she said quietly. "I'm glad everything worked as planned."

"Regrettably we suffered losses—Chidia Zunza is dead." Tina nodded and lowered her eyes in silent tribute.

"May I see Azon for myself?"

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "For what purpose?"

"I want to ask some questions."

Dumbledore pursed his lip. "We've thoroughly interrogated them already. Unless you have additional _Veritaserum_ —"

"—I just want to see if he can answer some questions for me."

 _Something is wrong._ But he could hardly deny a fellow Auror. "Alright, follow me." They made their way down to the catacomb levels, where Azon and the other seven survivors were being held. Tina's body language was disquieting: stiff and mechanical, as if she were exerting effort to move herself. But she said nothing, and Dumbledore did not press for conversation.

Inside Tina came directly in front of Azon, who was wrapped in cords and magically enveloped in a restraining field. "Where is Grindelwald?" she asked flatly.

Azon, who had deliberately ignored them when they entered the room, did not answer. Tina asked again, and he still did not respond. To his surprise Tina whipped out her wand and screamed: " _Crucio!_ "

Azon shrieked in pain. Before Dumbledore could intervene she stopped and rushed him. Tina had lost all emotional control; a seething hatred assaulted Dumbledore's senses as he restrained her from trying to reach out and claw out Azon's eyes. "Where is he? Where is he?" she screamed.

Immediately Azon gasped for air, then began laughing. As Dumbledore pulled her away, Azon taunted her: "Whoever it was Grindelwald killed, it was for their own good! For everyone's good! And so shall it be for you!"

"Let go of me! I want to kill that bastard!"

"I'm afraid I can't let that happen—oof!" Tina had elbowed him in the throat, sending him staggering. She raced back towards Azon, but then Dumbledore lassoed her with his wand and pulled her away. He closed the doors and put a magical seal on them, then released Tina.

"Let me in there!" Tina yelled, but she did not point her wand at him.

Dumbledore lowered his wand. "We need Azon alive, I don't need to remind you."

"I want to hurt to hurt him—"

"—it wasn't Azon who killed—"

"—I know Grindelwald loves Azon, I want him to suffer before he dies!"

Dumbledore sighed and closed his eyes. "My dear Miss Goldstein, I know you don't truly feel that way."

"Don't tell me how to feel, Albus." She pointed at the door. "Thanks to wizards like him, my sister's husband is dead! My niece and nephew will never know their father, because of them. And Queenie, oh Queenie—" Tina finally broke down and wept.

Dumbledore came closer but did not reach out to contact Tina. He stood by in silent sympathy, whatever good that would do. Not long after Tina collected herself. "I'm sorry for striking you."

"It's nothing, Miss Goldstein. I promise you Grindelwald and all his followers will receive justice for all the crimes they committed."

Tina sniffed. "But executing them for their crimes won't bring back Jacob or Credence or all the other victims. Executing them only makes us like them. That's what you were going to say, right?"

"It was. Because it's true."

She looked long and hard at him. "Would you say that if it was your family that died at Grindelwald's hands?"

"I shall share a confidence with you, Tina." Dumbledore paused, considering how best to half-reveal the truth. "Grindelwald is culpable to varying degrees for deep personal losses that I have suffered as well."

"I'm sorry?"

"He did not directly kill them, but he was… at least partially responsible."

A look of empathy came across Tina's face. "I did not know. I'm very sorry."

Dumbledore smiled. "Thank you for your sympathy. Don't let your grief consume you, you have so much to live for."

Tina made a noncommittal noise. "You do understand, the next time I see Grindelwald I will kill him."

"If we face him in battle, I would not try to stop you. But once the cursing stops, so must the killing. Wizards have executed their own for crimes in the past, and it did us no credit. We are better than that; we must be better than that."

Tina visibly relaxed. With a small smile she said. "Alright, back to Macusa for me. If Grindelwald is hiding in North America, we'll find him."

"I hope you do. Good luck and good hunting."

"Bye Albus." As Tina walked out of the catacombs, Dumbledore did his best to try and see things from Tina's perspective, on the off chance that she might be right. Try as he could, he could not bring himself to share the same bloodlust that she had. Intellectually of course he could, but not deep down. _But is that because you really believe what you say you do?_

 _Or because you're not really sure if Arianna died by his hand?_

 _Or because of what you still wish Gellert could be?_

Dumbledore had no definitive answer for his question.

 **Round 4  
** August 1945  
 _London—The Ministry of Magic_

"Good evening, Artemius. You seem to be in above-average spirits."

"Ha! Always the gift of understatement, Albus." It was early evening in London, and most of the workers of the Ministry of Magic had left. But the select groups of Aurors around the world still mopping up the remnants of Grindelwald's movement never rested, and never would until the danger was over.

Here in the Auror Department, Dumbledore always came after classes at Hogwarts had ended to check up on progress reports. "Would it have anything to do with Dietrich's apprehension in Baaden?"

Crouch gaped. "How the Devil did you hear about that?"

Dumbledore smiled. "I have my sources."

Artemius shrugged. "Well you're right, as usual. His last remaining cohorts got tired of hiding, they cut a deal and were willing to sell him out to do so."

"Nothing harder than being the last supporters of a lost cause."

"Just like you said, once he started losing support, it just snowballed."

"True, but it was more than that." Artemius looked at him quizzically. "No one believes me when I tell them this, but I firmly am of the opinion that once the Muggles stopped fighting each other, Grindelwald's days were numbered."

Crouch scratched his head. "Count me among the nonbelievers. What did the Muggle conflicts have to do with ours?"

"Nothing—and everything. Yes, Muggles fought each other for different reasons than we did. But this war was so vast, so all-consuming, the madness affected the wizarding community, at least partially. Whole populations killed and displaced, many of them blood relatives of wizards. You know how much the International Statute for Secrecy was smashed during the fighting, how many wizards got involved in cycles of revenge and counter-revenge. Grindelwald understood this, stoked our fears through his own heinous atrocities and deceptions. He would not have gained such support if many wizards themselves were not so fearful and vengeful. Now that the killings among the Muggles have ceased, the air to the fire in the wizarding community has been cut off. Hopefully we shall smother it shortly."

Crouch had listened to what Dumbledore said and nodded absent-mindedly; he took it as a sign Artemius either did not fully agree or even did not fully understand what he said. No matter. "Perhaps. Who knows. But it is true, Grindelwald's support has dropped off considerably."

"He's backed into a corner, which means he's still very dangerous," Dumbledore cautioned.

"No one knows how many supporters are still with him, but that number must be very small."

"Numbers are not everything. Unless and until we bring him down, he is a danger."

Crouch laughed. "Oh the irony!"

"I don't understand."

"You were pretty much the last wizard on this side of the Atlantic to think Grindelwald was a threat while he was ascending, and now you're almost the last wizard to think he's still a danger as he descends!"

Reluctantly Dumbledore conceded. "You have a point. But having been wrong before, I do not want to be wrong now. We haven't beaten him yet."

"We will. As soon as he shows himself, we'll bring him down."

"I agree. So the next thing to do is—"

—at that moment a loud alarm began echoing throughout the largely-empty halls of the Ministry of Magic, a screaming banshee cry that signified nothing less than a confirmed Grindelwald sighting

"To Operations!" They both hurriedly made their way to the special floor at the 13th level below the main level of the MoM. When they got there there were over twenty witches and wizards, and the numbers were increasing rapidly. In the center of the room was a large magical flame, whose flickers resolved into the form of Shimura Daiichi, the First Minister of the _Bumonnoki._

"—to all Ministries of Magic around the world, the Japanese Ministry of Magic is under assault by Grindelwald personally and his forces. We believe they are seeking to free Azon and his associates. Secret agents within the Bumonnoki have been undermining our defenses from within, while Grindelwald assaults us with wizards, dragons and giants! We require any and all reinforcements. The Worldway to the Department of Magic is open, but I don't know how much longer we can maintain the portal!" Abruptly the flames went out.

Collin Andsersworth, the current Minister of Magic, looked deeply shaken. But he quickly gathered himself: "To the Auror Department, send as many wizards and witches as you feel you can without compromising our safety. This is the decisive battle against Grindelwald, perhaps our best chance to bring him down! May Merlin protect you all."

The Minister dismissed the crowd; only the Aurors remained. Crouch looked around: "Do I have volunteers?"

Dumbledore was the first to get up. "Thank you, Albus. I—what are you doing?"

"No time to waste. We have to go now."

"Wait, we need to plan a strategy, we can't just—"

"—by the time we do so the battle might be lost. We plan when we get to Japan. Tally-ho!" Albus made his way past the astonished crowd of Aurors and hurled himself into the giant stone triangle that formed the British end of the Worldway portal system that connected all the Ministries of Magic.

He disappeared through.

* * *

 _Coming next: the epic duel between Dumbledore and Grindelwald!_


End file.
